


Dust and Lilies

by LoveisYonduBlue



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Angst, Cowboys, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Love, Prostitute, Romance, Violence, Wagon Train - Freeform, Western AU, cowboy, good guys wear black, gunfighter, old west au, star crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveisYonduBlue/pseuds/LoveisYonduBlue
Summary: Midway through the 1800s, hundreds of "Offworlders" were stranded on Earth. Yondu Udonta was one of those Offworlders; he and his Ravager family have made a home in the Old West of the United States. Through various circumstances, he finds himself falling in love with a Human woman named Meredith Quill, and at odds with her sadistic sometimes-lover, a man known simply as Ego. When Yondu finds a small boy, the only survivor of a massacre, pieces start falling into place and Yondu's life gets more complicated - and dangerous.





	1. Prologue

 

Earth, more commonly known throughout the galaxy as _Terra,_ was attacked by a faction of the Kree Empire in the Terran year 1856 A.D. The Kree intended to take the population of the planet as their slaves as they expanded their empires. An alliance of thieves and pirates – the Ravagers, the Hordes of Freedom – followed. They were the only thing that stood in the way of the Kree’s dominance over Human kind.

The battle lasted months. Terrans, not technically developed enough to build flying machines in their own atmosphere let alone capable of space travel, watched helplessly as the skies were filled with thousands of starships by day and lit up with gunfire by night.

The war came to an end when one of the Kree motherships was detonated. In desperation to flee the huge fireball, several ships landed on the planet – but the damage was done. The explosion had caused a chain reaction within the mothership’s core and knocked out all technology across all ships and across the planet. Ships fell from the sky all over Terra, and 1856 was known worldwide as the year of the Rain of Fire. Thousands died on both sides, and both sides were blamed by the Terrans for the death and destruction the ships had caused to their planet.

Kree and Ravagers, regardless of race, came to be known as Offworlders by the native Terrans. Nearly all technology had been wiped out, so there was no way for either side to send a distress call or send for reinforcements – and who would think to look on a backwater little planet like Terra? With nowhere to go, Offworlders have been stuck there for nearly a quarter of a century, living life alongside Terrans in cautious peace.

The year is now 1876.


	2. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how often I'll be updating, what with Vital Part 2 going on (and having maaaaany more chapters to go), but I'm gonna try! We'll see how far this gets.

The sun rises over the waking town of Perfection, Utah, turning the surrounding red rock an even more striking shade of crimson. The town is just beginning to stir with morning activity; boots, hoop skirts and hooves kick up the dry soil and expel clouds of dust in their wake.

Far out beyond the town, among the still-lingering shadows of the towering rock formations, Yondu Udonta has been wide awake for hours. His back is leaned against a large boulder; a tin plate, licked clean, lies discarded on the ground next to him. He sits with one jean-clad leg splayed out, the other knee drawn up with his black Stetson perched on top of it. In one hand, he twirls the muddy dregs and remains of his morning coffee. In the other, he holds a piece of paper.

It’s a letter, crumpled and wrinkled, folded, faded and torn at the creases. It looks so weathered and stained that one might think that he’s had it for years, but it’s only been a week since it was delivered to him, maybe less.

He reads it again, although he’s read it so many times by now that he could recite it backwards. Not that there’s much to read in the first place. It says,

_Yondu,_

_Please come home. We need to talk. Don’t do anything stupid._

_Stakar_

Yondu leans his head back against the rock, staring up into the stars that have been almost completely snuffed out by the sunrise. It’s been more than a year since he’s seen home.

He and Stakar have always butted heads to some extent, but they’d really brewed up a storm this time. He can’t even remember what had started it, now. But Stakar had been so furious with him that he’d banished him from camp until further notice, and then Yondu had said the worst thing possible. There’s not a day goes by that he doesn’t hear his own voice ringing in his ears, and not a second he doesn’t regret it. _To hell with ya! Y’aint my pa anyhow!_

He closes his eyes as the painful memory stabs his heart. As soon as the words were out, he wished he could have taken them back, but the damage was done, and he was too proud and too angry to admit his wrongdoing. Truthfully, there was fault on both sides, but here Stakar was, being the bigger man about it.

Not that Yondu wouldn’t have gone back eventually. He has to. The only family he has in this whole galaxy is there in that camp.

Stakar and Aleta had saved him and dozens of others from a downed Kree ship, some hundreds of miles north, where there were mountains and snow. Somewhere in Canada, probably, he now realizes. He’d just been a lil’ un then, young enough to need a parent, but old enough to have caused so much trouble for his Kree masters that they’d sliced off his head crest. He subconsciously runs a hand over the red cerebral implant embedded in his skull. Sometimes he gets ghost pains where his _tahlei_ used to be.

Stakar had found him first, shot light from his fingertips to break the chains binding Yondu to the burning ship. It was Aleta that had taken him in her arms and carried him out, putting him down only once to gun down a Kree soldier that threatened to kill her and take Yondu away.

His lips quirk at the thought of her. Short, dark-haired spitfire of a woman. His Ma. That’s what he’d called her, when he turned 12. It was an accident, just a slip of the tongue and he’d been mortified. Aleta had pretended not to notice and gave him an extra helping of breakfast. He’d used the title on purpose a few times after that, and she hadn’t bothered to correct him. After all, older Martinex had been calling her Ma for years.

Calling Stakar _Pa_ had been a trickier business, at least for Yondu. The man had such an intimidating aura about him that Yondu had always felt nervous around him and inadequate in comparison. It was Stakar himself that had asked him if he wanted to be his son. Yondu of course jumped at the opportunity. His real parents had sold him to the Kree when he was a baby, and he’d never imagined he’d have ones that would care for him the way Stakar and Aleta did. The Ogords officially adopted Yondu and Marty as sons that same day.

Tullk was next, their little brother. He was a little Scottish immigrant whose family had been killed in some massacre. They’d found him wandering alone on the plains, sunburnt and near to starving. Yondu stares at the letter blankly, not seeing the words, and wonders how old Tullk must be by now. 12? 14? He shakes his head slightly and reads the letter again. His eyes keep lingering on one sentence in particular.

_Please come home._

Stakar doesn’t _say_ please. And he doesn’t apologize, but it’s there, plain as day, written between the lines.

“What d’ya think, girl?” he asks Eclector, who is munching on some scraggly grass nearby. “Wanna head home?”

The black mare raises her head, blinks, and tosses her head before walking over to him and nuzzling his shoulder. He pats her nose and gets to his feet, pulling his hat down over his forehead. He brings a handful of oats out of the saddlebag and lets her nibble them out of his hand, stroking her mane. After she’s finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and snags the letter from the ground before the wind can carry it away.

He takes one last look before nodding his head and neatly folding it back into a square. He tucks it safely in his breast pocket, pulls on his duster, and saddles up Eclector. “Let’s git down to the town fer some supplies, and then – let’s go home.”

* * *

 

Yondu keeps his gloves on, his bandanna tight, and his hat set low. No need in drawing more attention that is absolutely necessary. Terrans have grown pretty accustomed to having Offworlders passing through, but there are always some that aren't friendly, and he'd rather not get shot at today.

He rides into town without any trouble or second glances. He raises a couple fingers to the brim of his hat in greeting to at the sheriff sitting outside his office; the man just waves back sleepily. He finds a particularly quiet spot between two buildings to tie Eclector up while he does some errands and slips off her back. He ties off her bridle and gives her a quick rubdown, promising a carrot or an apple if he can find one. He counts the money in his wallet and tucks it safely at his side, straightens his hat. He’s just turned, keeping his head low but eyes watchful for unsavory characters when he sees her. He almost trips over his own feet.

A stone’s throw away, she crosses the road ahead of him, her hair like strands of gold in the rising sunlight. She's dressed in calico and lace, a small purse clutched in her small gloved hands. She strides briskly on her way, and Yondu watches her walk away, admiring the curve of her hips and back where it meets the bustle of her gown. He lets out a small whistle of appreciation, and the arrow at his side quivers in its holster. He's seen many beautiful women on Terra, but that woman has to be one of the loveliest.


	3. A Lady

Meredith Quill hurries about her business. She looks straight ahead, careful not to meet anyone’s gaze, but she can feel eyes on her as she crosses the street. Curious, wandering eyes – and judgmental ones too. Those are the hardest to ignore.

Her first stop, as always, is the telegraph office. As soon as she steps a toe inside, Morris raises his spectacled eyes to hers and shakes his head. “Sorry, Miss Quill. Still no word from out East.”

She sighs, and tries to hide her disappointment. It’s been the same for the last six months. She doesn’t know why she expected something different. Nonetheless, she gives the elderly gentleman a hopeful smile and nods her head in thanks, blonde ringlets bouncing around her chin. “Much obliged, Mory. Maybe tomorrow’ll be my day.”

She shades her eyes as she crosses the street, telling herself the tears in them are a result of the bright morning sun. She blinks angirly, clutching her skirts as she lifts them to stride across the dusty ground to the General Store. She picks out a new pair of bloomers and a new lace choker (a customer had torn her last one), holding the fabric in shaking hands. _Good fer nothin’ big city lawyer._ Nearly every spare cent has gone to pay him, but he’s done nothing to help her. _Well maybe Ah’ll just stop payin’ him,_ she thinks as she slaps the items down on the counter. _See if he can’t come up with anythin’ then!_ She counts out the appropriate amount of money, exchanging it for the parcels wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. She holds them to her chest as she marches back out, towards the saloon.

She’s not gone five paces when a man blocks her path. She holds back a noise of disgust. It’s one of the McKittrick brothers. She was hoping they’d left town for good.

“Hello Mery, ya miss me?” He grins at her with brown teeth.

She leans back. His breath is foul enough without the stench of drink permeating off of him. It’s ony nine in the morning – but not too early for liquor for some. “That is _Miss Quill_ to ya, Tom McKittrick. Now if ya’ll excuse me.”

“Ooh, we missed that pretty southern drawl a’ yers, didn’t we, Clyde?”

“Sure did,” another voice comes from behind her, and she turns to see the other McKittrick brother sauntering up on her other side, spitting a stream of brown liquid into the street. She should have known there is never one without the other.

“Let me pass,” she says sternly, clutching her packages.

“Whatcha got there, Mery? Anythin’ private? Somethin’ I might get to see later?” Clyde tries to rip a package out of her arms, but she yanks it back.

“Leave me alone!” she snaps.

“Aw, ya done hurt our feelings,” Tom says with a mocking pout. “How ‘bout a kiss to make it better?”

Meredith feels Clyde finger her hair and yelps, jumping away from him. This lands her closer to Tom, who purses his lips, making kissy noises at her.

“Get away from me!”

Tom grabs her arm, holding her fast. “We don’t wanna, Mery – yer just too damn pretty to let walk by.” He takes the packages out of her arms and throws them to the ground. Clyde leans in to grasp her other arm, and she has no where to go now. She’s trapped.

Tom cries out suddenly in pain, as does Clyde next to him. Gloved hands are twisting their ears, yanking them backwards.

“What d’ya know, them ears _ain’t_ made a’ cloth,” comes a raspy, husky drawl. “Could’a sworn they was, because the lady asked to be left alone.”

With a violent twist, the two men are released, and Meredith retreats to the relative safety of the street as her rsecuer walks into view. He’s dressed in grey and black, wearing a leather duster that’s dyed a particular shade of maroon. His spurs jangle menacingly as he slowly walks forward, thumbs stuck in his lapels. But his clothing is not what captures her attention. With a soft gasp, she sees that he’s an Offworlder. He has skin as blue as forget-me-nots, and eyes that gleam the red of fresh blood.

“Ya better git outta here, Earth-Burner,” Tom spits.

The Offworlder grins meanly at the insult and Meredith sees his teeth are jagged and sharp, mismatched with gold caps. “I don’t gotta do nothin’, boy. But ya better move along and let the lady walk free, else I’m gonna have to teach y’all a lesson.” His tongue, a shade darker than his skin, flicks out to wet his lips.

“I’d like to see you try!” Clyde yells, and flings back his coat, drawing his revolver in one quick motion.

There’s a shrill, sharp whistle and a flash of red light. There’s a yell of dismay from Clyde and a loud gasp from Tom. There’s a clatter of metal on wood, and Meredith can see between Clyde’s feet that half of the barrel of his gun is lying on the wooden porch beams, severed and slightly glowing as if it’d been cut with a red-hot blade.

She looks back up and claps a mouth over her hand in surprise.

An arrow, golden in color and lit from within by what looks like flaming hot coals, is hovering in the air just shy of Clyde’s nose.

“How’s that fer tryin’?” the Offworlder hisses. With a trilling quick note, the arrow whips to the left, slashing across Clyde’s cheek – then another fast whistle, and the arrow dives for Tom, who was reaching for his gun. “Git the hell outta here, ‘fore I decide to spill them yellow bellies a’ yers.”

Not wasting a second, the brothers dash away, down the street and around the corner. The Offworlder watches after them until they’re out of sight.

Meredith doesn’t dare move, and steps back when the Offworlder turns to her. A soft note from his lips sends the arrow whisking back into the folds of his coat. He bends and picks her packages up off the porch, brushing the dust off. “Looks unharmed, more’r less,” he says softly. “Here ya are.”

He holds out the parcels, and steeling herself, Meredith takes the few steps towards him and gathers them against her chest. “Th-” her voice fails her as she looks into the Offworlder’s eyes. They’re not so much like blood as rubies, glinting with all sorts of different shades of red. “Thank ya,” she finishes. “Fer defendin’ me.”

He holds up a hand. “Couldn’t let a lady be treated like that, ‘specially one pretty as yerself.”

She feels a slight blush warm her cheeks. Men say things like that all the time to her, but for some reason, this Offworlder’s comment feels more genuine than most.

“Now – uh, I ain’t from ‘round these parts,” he continues, and grins, and she wonders if he’s making a joke, “Can ya point me to the General Store?”

Meredith turns and points down back the way she’d come. “Just over there.”

“Thanks,” he says, touching the brim of his hat. “Ya take care now, ma’am.” With a swirl of his duster, he’s gone.

* * *

Yondu picks up some items at the General Store without much fuss, and the blacksmith goes well too, so he decides to get a drink before he sets off. He sets Eclector up in a nearby stable, feeds her a couple carrots he managed to get, and eats some dried meat while he’s rubbing her down. By the time his errands are done, and he’s taken care of Eclector, it’s about noontime, and he’s thirsty.

He pushes through the sun-faded door into the saloon. There’s a considerable number of patrons inside despite the hour, and several stare at him as he makes his way to the bar.

“Howdy,” Yondu greets the barkeep, whose back is turned to him.

The man turns. He’s perhaps a little younger than Yondu himself, with bright blue eyes and reddish-brown hair. His mustache is neatly trimmed and waxed. A flicker of surprise crosses his face at Yondu’s appearance, but then he leans forward on the counter. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I get for you?”

“Ya serve Offworlders, then,” Yondu comments.

“Customers is customers, don’t care if your skin is white, brown, black, red, yellow or uh, blue in your case.” His mustache crinkles with a smile.

“That ain’t a popular opinion.”

“No it is not,” he replies, straightening up. His eyes glint, as if in challenge.

Yondu holds up a hand. “Won’t get no argument from me, jus’ happy to be recognized. I’ll have a tequila, if ya got any.”

The bartender taps the counter with a finger. “Just so happens I do.” He disappears below the counter for a moment and comes back up again holding a thick glass bottle. He unstops it and pours a glass. “Here you are.”

Yondu throws it back in one gulp, gritting his teeth. “Ooh, tha’s the good stuff.”

“Most men can’t hold that down. Knocks their boots right off.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t most men. How much fer the bottle?”

“Twenty-five cents.”

Yondu digs out his wallet and counts out the money, sliding the coins over to the bartender. He pours another glass and lifts it in toast. “Much obliged. Ya got a name?”

“James Kenny. Most just call me James.”

“Well, thank ya kindly, Mister James. The name’s Yondu Udonta; I’ll remember yer kindness.” He touches his finger to his hat and settles down at a corner table to finish another few glasses.

He hasn’t sat there long when he feels a light touch on his shoulder and is surrounded by the smell of perfume.

“Interested in some company, stranger?” a low, sultry female voice asks.

He turns in his seat, and the woman jumps back at the sight of him. His eyes widen to match hers. It’s the woman he saved in the street.


End file.
